A Call To Arms
by YoursNotTruly
Summary: It's the summer of 1944, and instead of indulging himself in relaxation and enjoying his youth as any typical twenty-one-year-old should be, Dick Grayson finds himself lost within the hostile territory of Nazi-Occupied Tamaran after having been separated from his unit. Will he ever find his way back or accept his apparent fate and surrender to the enemy? AU, eventual Robstar.


**Disclaimer:** _I don't own the Teen Titans. _

**A/N: **_This story was inspired by Band of Brothers, so yeah. Also, I would like to apologize for not updating My Bestfriend's Girlfriend. I'm so sorry..._

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**_Chapter I - Whenever My Country Calls_**

It was a typical morning at Wayne Manor.

As the break of day neared and light slowly illuminated the nearly empty halls, if it weren't for the grandiose paintings and antiques scattered throughout the mansion to brighten the mood, a young Dick Grayson awoke to the boisterous beeping of his alarm clock. Refusing to get up from his comfortable position under his bed sheets, he lazily searched for the pesky device on his nightstand with one hand. After a few minutes of fumbling, annoyed that he couldn't get the damn thing to shut up, Dick rose from the covers and smashed the alarm with a powerful swing of his fist.

"Ugh," he groaned, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he swung his legs off the side of his bed. He paused for a moment then glanced down at his boxers. "Oh, great. Just...great."

After assembling an appropriate change of clothes for a casual Saturday, Dick ambled to the bathroom for a long, cold shower.

In the kitchen, Alfred busily prepared a mountainous breakfast for the five male residents of the manor. Bruce sat at one end of the grand table with a stack of unopened envelopes at his side, intently reading the morning paper. Damian sat at the opposite end, his chin resting on the palm of his hand as he idly toyed with kitchen utensils and a linen napkin. He huffed in annoyance as his older brother, Jason, walked in.

"Todd," the adolescent grumbled.

"Morning, kid!" Jason smirked as he purposefully ruffled his hair, knowing it would irk him. "Bruce," he received a nod then walked towards the kitchen window pass to greet their gray-haired butler.

Tim wandered into the dining room, catching Damian in the act of burning a death glare at the back of Jason's head, then locked eyes with him as he shifted his gaze.

"Drake."

The animosity emanating from the almost-demon-spawn was akin to that of radiation from an atom bomb. Tim didn't know whether it was because the ten-year-old really hated his brothers with an intense, fiery passion, or he simply wasn't a morning person. He couldn't tell.

"Easy, Damian. It's only, like, what, seven o'clock in the morning? Let's save it for the afternoon." Tim looked at his father and assumed his place beside him. "Hey, Bruce." He was also issued a nod in acknowledgement.

Damian was about to respond with a clever retort, but was interrupted when his eldest sibling finally joined in their daily gathering.

"Good morning, guys." He occupied the spot beside Damian. "What's for breakfast?" All three inhabitants shrugged.

As if on cue, Alfred arrived to distribute the day's first meal. Jason followed closely, hungrily sniffing the aroma wafting off the french toast, pancakes, omelets, and the like.

"I get first dibs," Jason declared with a look of triumph.

"No can do, Jay," Dick challenged. "I'm the oldest, so me first."

Jason's winning smile fell and a frown settled in its place. "Shut up. I called it already."

"And I care, why? Me being older than you trumps all of your-"

"Cease with your immature banter," Damian growled. "I swear, the both of you are five-year-olds trapped in the embodiment of an adult. Your level of maturity is undoubtedly inferior to mine and, quite frankly, I'm only ten. Father," he turned to Bruce, "you have successfully raised a household of man-children. Drake included."

"Hey!" Tim griped, offended. "Am not." He crossed his arms in defiance and cast the boy a scowl.

"My point exactly," Damian droned on with a bored expression as he resumed fiddling with his tableware.

"Boys," Bruce lowered his newspaper as he cleared his throat. He looked at the pile of beige envelopes with subtle disdain, knowing what they were and what it meant for the family. "We need to talk." All four of his sons looked at him expectantly.

"Dick," he tossed him an envelope. "Jason," he passed another to his second son then held his own. "Can either of you guess what these are?"

A strange, intangible force wouldn't allow him to remove his fixed gaze from the sealed letter in his hands. He couldn't look any of his boys in the eye. Perhaps the only explanation he could think of was that he was afraid for them, terrified by the thought of losing them to the war. He didn't mind so much enlisting by himself, but it was a completely different story when his sons were required to participate as well, for he didn't want them taking any part.

"Are we finally being invited to the Playboy Mansion?" Jason quipped, waggling his eyebrows. "If you asked me, I'd say it's about time they've come to their senses." He glanced at Tim and Damian, laughing internally at their lack of age. Tim shot him a look and Damian rolled his eyes.

"No."

"What is it, Bruce?" Dick could sense the tension emerging from Bruce's person. Unlike Jason, he got the hint that this was definitely no laughing matter.

Bruce sighed as he opened his envelope. A quick glance at the single sheet confirmed his fears. He and two of his boys were being drafted.

"It's a letter of induction."

The loud, cracking screech of ceramic plates and silverware making contact with the floor rang throughout the dining room. All eyes, except for Damian's, shifted to Alfred. A look of pain marred his aged expression.

It was Damian that spoke after a moment of awkward silence. "Please excuse me." He got up from his seat and made his way to the exit. "I've lost my appetite." A loud bang could be heard as Damian slammed the door to his room shut and activated the lock. Surprisingly, Tim could've sworn Damian was struggling to hold back tears.

Dick glanced at Jason, whose eyes still trailed after their youngest sibling, then at Bruce, who couldn't seem to look anywhere but at the slip of paper he held in his hands.

"You can't go," Tim stood, slightly trembling. "You just...I won't...there's no way I'll...It's not..." His words were beginning to sound like a jumbled mess, making it difficult for the others to decipher what he was trying to say.

Dick approached his younger brother and planted both of his hands firmly on each of his quivering shoulders to steady him. "Hey," he soothed. "Everything's going to be alright. We'll get through this, okay?"

"What if-" Tim choked back a sob. "What if we don't? What if something happens to all three of you? What're Damian and I supposed do?" He buried his face in his hands as Dick pulled him into a one-armed hug and sat him back down. He remained silent, certain that any further attempt at consolation would be in vain and took the spot beside him.

Jason finally looked at Bruce, who still had his eyes glued to the induction notice. "Bruce," he said. No response. "Dad," his father's gaze slowly but surely met his own. "What does it say?"

"We are scheduled to report to the National Guard Armory here in Gotham in about a week's time, and from there we will be transported to the induction station for the Army."

"I'll go pack my things," Jason uttered. "We don't have much time before-"

"We won't be going anywhere, Jason," Bruce announced with a doleful sigh as well as a heavy heart. "I will be going alone."

"What's that supposed to mean?" The three boys demanded.

"It means that neither of you are going. Rest assured, I'll make it so that you don't have to." He got up and made his way to the large, arched window overlooking the backyard to examine the scenery. The elaborate garden was as elegant as the day before and the sun continued to bestow its rays of life upon the greenery. He thought it unfortunate how a beautiful day could be easily spoiled.

"Now, hold on a minute," Dick interjected. "You can't do that."

"Yes, I can. And I will."

"You can't stop me from going. You can't stop either of us."

Bruce turned to face his son. "I won't allow it. You're too-"

"Too what, Bruce?" Dick was practically yelling, his brows scrunched together in portrayal of his acute disapproval. "Young? I'm twenty-one, not twelve. I think it's safe to say I'm old enough to make my own decisions. Therefore, the choice is mine to make and mine alone."

"Dick-"

"He's right," Jason affirmed. Bruce stared at him, wide-eyed. "The men who put their lives on the line because they have to...it isn't fair to them."

"I don't care if it's unjust," Bruce avowed. "I forbid you."

"What makes you think Jay and I have any more right to live than all the other men being drafted?"

Bruce offered no response, opting instead to sit down quietly and absorb what's been said.

"You're right."

No more words were exchanged as Bruce got up and walked away, and no voice was heard as the three remaining boys gathered around Alfred to assist him with the shattered fragments of ceramics.

_To be continued…_


End file.
